


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: Christmas Carol Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Christmas Themed, F/M, Recurring Dreams, The Fade, a little fluff, i'm not crying you're crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen worries himself in circles waiting for his Inquisitor's safe return. Will she make it back to Skyhold before the blizzard closes off the pass?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> First of a few prompts I received on Tumblr and then took it upon myself to make them written around Christmas Carols.
> 
> This one goes to I'll Be Home For Christmas

**_I’ll be home for Christmas_ **

Cullen's leg bounced in subconscious agitation. He tried to focus on the twisting words of the report on his desk but found that it was impossible. The pounding behind his eyes, that he was used to now, no, what was truly driving him to insanity was wondering _where_ Viktoriea could _possibly_ be.

What was keeping her? Her latest correspondence had been nearly a week ago now. In it, she had proclaimed that she was on her way back to Skyhold regardless of the raging snowstorm that was threatening to blow in over the Frostbacks from Ferelden. Already its fierce chill was seeping through every wall and grasping at every stone. The staff had to spend most of their energies tending each of the fortress’ fireplaces, just to ensure no one _froze_ to death. The storm had not even come in all its ferocity yet. He was sure it would only get worse when the snowstorm came in full.

In lieu of the Inquisitor, he and the other advisors had been working overtime with requisitions to ensure that every soldier and refugee were adequately warm, supplied with proper blankets and clothing. They worked tirelessly to store enough food supplies to withstand the blizzard before the supply line closed up with snow, to provide hit meals for every man, woman, and child taking refuge in Skyhold.

He was utterly exhausted. And worrying over Viktoriea was making nothing better.

Already the roads were closing. Refugees were moving from the outward camp into the castle to wait out the storm. Soon they would likely have to seal off the gates and yet Viktoriea was _still_ missing.

There was nothing else for it, Cullen pushed away from his desk and took to pacing. Each time he passed the window of his office, he glanced out, hoping to see something besides the swirling snow pressing thick and menacing against the glass.

He remembered the last time he was caught in a blizzard. He remembered the last time the Inquisitor was missing and it was driving him into a wild panic. He remembered straining his eyes against the blankets of white, ignoring the sting of the biting wind across his cheeks and taking the icy, ragged pants through the fur collar whipping around his face. Where was she? Did she make it? The uncertainty drove him to pleading. Maker please, let her escape and come back. If He gave him that one thing, Cullen would not wait another minute to tell her the way he truly felt. He would not hesitate a moment longer.

On and on they had marched the refugees of Haven away from the army they feared was closing in on them, and further and further they drew from his hope that Viktoriea would find her way back to him.

Cullen tore his gaze away from the frosty window and tried to swallow the terror that was rising into his throat with renewed purpose. If he did not stifle it, it would consume him. He would saddle a horse himself and ride into the mountains to find her. Then the Inquisitor _and_ the Commander would be lost. That selfishness would serve no one.

He had to wait.

Anything to distract him, to keep him from squinting through the window pane until his heart imploded with worry, he turned back to his desk. He thumbed the small neatly wrapped package sitting unassuming atop of stack of books he had never bothered to put away.

Such a silly thing, he knew. It was small, next to worthless, and Viktoriea had already refused his token once, but he wanted to try again. He _needed_ to. He needed to feel like she was safe out there, despite even knowing her astounding capabilities. She was a wonder of a woman, and he marveled at her each time he saw her magic spark, but a little luck would never hurt. Viktoriea had protested, however, assuring him that she would lose it, or, Maker forbid, accidentally _spend_ it, but Cullen had seen to her objections rather thoroughly.

Viktoriea could never lose the coin if it had been melted into the ring around her finger.

For a moment, Cullen wondered if his plans were adding to his anxiety over Viktoriea’s absence, but he immediately dismissed it. He had no qualms about that. There was only one answer that she could possibly give him. 

The door of his office creaked open behind him, and he whirled on the scout he most certainly _did not_ have the patience to deal with, but his admonishment died in his throat.

“Cullen?”

“Oh, Viktoriea!”

Maker, what a sight! Her cheeks were rosy, her nose red with cold and delicate snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes and sticking to her hair. Cullen laughed with his relief as he rushed to embrace her. Viktoriea teetered forward and met him, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. He didn’t mind the uncomfortable pull in the slightest. Maker, He delivered her back to him! That was all Cullen cared about. She was cold, the chill clinging to her leathers and her exposed skin and he set himself to kissing it away, warming her again with his joy. He couldn’t bring Viktoriea close enough to him. He couldn’t hold her for long enough. If they never moved again, he would be the happiest man in Thedas.

“Cullen, I miss you so much!” Viktoriea cried, voice muffled in the furs.

“I missed you too, my dearest love! The wait was torture, as ever, but you came back to me,” he sighed.

“I will always come back to you.”

Simply hearing her say it, made his heart soar with elation. His relief was driving him wild, and Cullen could only chuckle at himself. “Or course, Viktoriea, how foolish of me to doubt you. You’ve never disappointed before.”

He pulled away from her, just to look again and remind himself she was here and she was safe. Cullen smiled warmly and brushed the frost from her cheeks, basking in the wide eyed disbelieving stare she was giving it. He wasn’t the only one to worry, it seemed. He smiled at her reassuringly and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against her ice cold nose.

He had hardly pulled away before Viktoriea seized him by his collar and crushed her chill lips to his. Shuddering at their chill, barely containing the surprised laugh that bubbled into his throat, he kissed her back. Maker, how he kissed her! Urgent and blissful and searching and comforted. Viktoriea clung to him and he obliged her, pulling her closer, reaching deeper, giving her everything she asked with each pass of his tongue and drag of her lip between his teeth. He was content to never release her.

Until she choked and tore her face away from his, burying herself into his shoulder with a shuddering cry.

Cullen’s laugh was still shaky from their breathtaking kiss. “You’re safe, Viktoriea. You just beat the blizzard to Skyhold, you needn’t worry for anything else. I am here.” He pulled her into him. “We are _both_ here.”

“Cullen, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. You know that. You know that I always have. Maker knows that I always will. In this life, and the next.” He took a deep steadying breath, and glanced back at the package on his desk. All this time and he had never bothered to plan. His proposal would happen whenever he felt it was time. After the waiting—ten Maker forsaken years of waiting—he would never waste another moment. “Viktoriea?” Cullen asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He cradled her winter-kissed face in his hands, his thumbs lightly stroking her cheeks. “I want you to marry me. I’ve never wanted _anything_ more. Whether we are wed tomorrow or next year, small or grand, if you would only be my wife I will be happy. Actually…I suppose I would be _lucky_. And you would always carry my luck with you—”

Without any warning, Viktoriea’s sniffles broke into outright sobs and Cullen froze in shock. Perhaps he had expected her to be emotional but outright sobbing? He was suddenly at a complete loss. Cullen pulled his wailing woman into his chest and stroked her back, squeezing her tightly. He whispered to her, again and again, that everything was alright, that he didn’t mean for his proposal to upset her. Frankly, he was flabbergasted if it did, but then Viktoriea could be so strange at times, the Circles making her too wary for her own good, scarring her as it had Cullen. It didn’t matter what he did, however, she was not calming in his arms. He no longer knew what else to do aside from nuzzle her hair, kiss away the snowflakes, and wonder what in the Maker’s name was happening.

“Oh, Cullen! I do! I would! Never let me go! Please! Just…hold me here, and keep me forever.”

He laughed somewhat uncomfortably. “That _was_ my plan, you know. If you were listening—”

“Oh Maker,” Viktoriea moaned. “Why? _Why again??_ Cullen…I _never_ want to leave.”

Cullen’s eyebrows knit in confusion. He started to rock his mage as she clutched at his fur collar and tried to find some semblance of sense in her words. “You don’t _have_ to leave,” he finally said. “Not yet. We can tell Josephine to rearrange the conference in Orlais; it’s not like the storm will be letting up any time soon, after all. We can stay here together, where it’s warm and where I can hold you.” He gently kissed her temple, already looking forward to the plans he was making for them even before they were truly formulated. “I’ve got more chocolates for you, my love, and we can get hot cider from The Herald’s Rest, and we never even have to leave this room.” Viktoriea shuddered in his arms and Cullen chuckled, his grip around her tightening. “On second thought, perhaps we should stay in your quarters instead. My loft is a bit drafty these days.” He frowned down at the wavy golden halo of hair buried into his shoulder when she didn’t laugh. Not even a giggle or a chuckle. _Something_ , something he couldn’t put his finger on, was _very_ wrong with Viktoriea.

“Nooo, Cullen,” Viktoriea said softly, her voice so thick with her tears that she could hardly speak. “I have to go. I always have to go.”

“For the Inquisition?” Cullen puzzled, holding her out so he could get a good look at her tear stained face. Even then she was a lovely sight, and he thanked the Maker for the umpteenth for delivering her to him after ten long years. “You can’t go out with the storm, Viktoriea. That is ridiculous. I cannot allow it.”

“You always worried about me. You’re _still_ worrying about me. _Why wouldn’t you ever let me worry about you?”_ Her head lolled forward for a long stretch of time that made Cullen inexplicably uneasy and when she finally looked up at him, her normally bright blue eyes were faraway and sad, swimming with more pain than he ever wanted to see. Cullen wanted desperately to kiss the horrible look away. It filled him with a dread he couldn’t quite bear, a kind of terror he didn’t understand. “I have to _wake up_ , Cullen. _I can never stay in the Fade_.”

Cullen watched the silent tears stream over her cheeks, her body shaking with sobs she was barely holding in. He blinked at her. His stomach dropped straight through the floor. The unknown foreboding clawed its way through his head, tearing apart his insides until he was numb with fear. Had she been too long in the cold that she was speaking nonsense now? What had happened to Viktoriea?

His head spun trying to keep up with her, trying to decide whether or not he should take her straight to the Infirmary to be checked.

The Infirmary.

_Vaulting ceilings, splitting pain. Viktoriea hovered, always close, always crying. Cullen wanted to comfort her. It killed him when she cried. She did not deserve even a moment of suffering. He was always aware of her, of the healers, of his friends, but the pain obliterated all else. The agony split his body until he no longer knew if he would rather cling to the trembling hand slipping into his, or let himself succumb to it, all of it. The mind numbing, skull shattering, cleaving, torturous, splitting, racking, **unimaginable** pain—_

_—rivaled, perhaps, only by his ravenous **thirst**._

Cullen blinked in astonishment at what he might have sworn was a memory if…if…

The _Fade?_ Maker’s breath. No!

“I died.”

 

**_If only in my dreams_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I am the Grinch, yes, I know.


End file.
